


Sea of Photographs

by mrgoldsdearie



Series: Sea of Photographs [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8592211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrgoldsdearie/pseuds/mrgoldsdearie
Summary: Oswald can't get Edward out of his mind, as he poses for an artist to paint his portrait. So he asks the artist to used a photo of Edward to add to the piece. Oswald reveals the portrait and his deep feelings for Edward. But does the Mayor's chief of staff feel the same way?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I may write a second part to this to show a bit of what happened to our boys at the end. But ultimately this is another one-shot for my quickly growing collection of nygmobblepot fics and also an introduction to my list of virgin!Oswald stories. I hope those who read enjoy and thank you so much for the warm welcome into this fandom. Happy reading.

Oswald stands, shoulders broad, back straight, cane in his right hand. He poses for a painter, whom he commissioned, to create the perfect portrait of his likeness. He’s remained in his powerful pose, motionless and silent, for hours. It would be a shame to break the artist’s concentration. Though the grand room of the mansion is hushed, Oswald’s mind is clouded with endless thoughts for the one he pines.

 _“Ed has done so much for me. If only I could tell him how I feel,”_ Oswald ponders. _“He would do anything for me and I for him, but lately I can’t even talk to him without tripping over my words.”_

The artist politely asks Oswald to turn slightly to the right, needing to add more dimension to the profile.

Oswald complies, changing his position to face the large window, and he’s nearly struck breathless from the magnificent view. He didn’t expect to see Edward stepping out into the garden for a bit of fresh air. It’s beautiful the way the sun’s rays beam off of the natural highlights of his chestnut hair. The skies are normally gray throughout the days in Gotham, but it seems as though the sun came out from behind the clouds just for Oswald to witness this moment.

 _“Stunning,”_ he thought. _“The scene could be a work of art.”_

An idea instantly comes to Oswald’s mind. Why didn’t he think of it before? He could have the artist add Edward to the painting and surprise him with his representation on the canvas.

“Wait just a moment,” he says, and hobbles across the room to meet the painter at the easel. He admires every detailed stroke of the painter’s talented brush, hoping the artist will be able to apply the same attention to what he’s about to ask of them. “You do impeccable work,” the Mayor complements. “Such skill could be rare to find.

“Thank you, Mr. Mayor,” they answer graciously.

“Your attention to detail surpasses my expectations.”

“Thank you again.” They beam with a nod.

“Though the painting is coming along beautifully as it is, I was hoping we could add a little something more.”

“More?”, they question, resting the paint brush on the easel.

“Yes. It’s missing something…. someone, actually,” Oswald answers. If only he had thought of adding Edward to the painting sooner. They could have posed together and spent more time with each other. “I’m going to need you to add Ed in the painting with me.”

“Mr. Mayor…. The painting is nearly complete.“ The artist usually doesn’t mind taking random requests in the middle of a piece, but almost never this late in the process. "To add another image would…..”

Oswald leans over his cane with lowered brows, coming face to face with the painter, cutting them off in the middle of their sentences. “I don’t see any reason why you can’t comply with my request,” he snarls through his teeth. Any excuse they may have had is grossly unacceptable to Mr. Penguin.

The artist swallows hard and turns back to the painting. The Mayor’s piercing azure eyes are a bit intimidating. “I’m sure I can figure something out.”

“I know you can.” His face lights with a twisted grin and limps to the window, straightening his suit jacket. “I want this to be a surprise for Ed. So I hope you can capture his beauty—” Oswald’s eyes widen and he takes pause to instantly correct himself— “I mean….” He turns back to face the artist, trying to look composed, but he knows exactly what slip from his lips. “Likeness,” he clarifies, emphasizing the word he claims to had truly meant. “From a photo.”

The painter doesn’t acknowledge the Mayor’s obvious attempt at hiding what he said about his chief of staff. The situation could possibly turn ugly if they did. “Do you have a picture of Mr. Nygma? The right one could help me decide on where to position him on the canvas.”

“Do I have a picture of him?” Oswald repeats in an impudent huff and a slight roll of the eyes. “I’ll be right back.” He shuffles out or the grand room to collect a few much-needed items.

##  **~~~**

Oswald Cobblepot returns several moments later, holding a couple of books against his chest. He makes his way to the upholstered couch, unbuttons the center button of his black pin-striped suit jacket, and takes a seat. “Join me if you like.” He rests the books on the solid wood antique table.

The artist isn’t sure why he returned with books instead of a single image to add to the painting. They stand for a moment, observing the Mayor flipping through the pages.

“Oh!”, Oswald suddenly exclaimed. “What do you think of this one?” Turns the picture to the painter’s view, smiling nearly ear to ear. Most of the photos in the album are from Oswald and Edward’s journey on the campaign trail, and their time living together in Edward’s loft. “His eyes are inviting here, don’t you think?”

The artist steps closer to get a better look at the photo. “That one would work well in the painting.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” He gazes back at the photo, love shimmering in his eyes. “But, he isn’t standing up as straight as he normally does.” He returns the picture back into the plastic sleeve of the photo album. “I should know,” he adds, with a shrug of his shoulders, and flips through more pages in the book. “We must find the perfect one.”

The painter decides to take the seat next to Oswald. They have a feeling that finding a picture of Edward will take a lot longer than anticipated. They notice the Mayor’s expressions as he looks at every picture of Edward, each one blooms a blushing smile on his face.

“This one is one of my absolute favorites.” He picks up the book and rests it on his lap, gently stroking his left hand across the paper, reliving in his mind the moment the photo was snapped. “I know you can’t use this one—” he bashfully grins down at the photograph— “but I can’t help but to stop and look at it.” With Edward being caught off guard in the photo, it wouldn’t work well with the nature of the painting, but Oswald loves everything about the photograph. Actually, every picture with his crush makes his heart skip a beat.

Though the painter admires the fact that Oswald treasures every photo of his friend, they grow a bit restless waiting for him to find the right one.

After nearly fifteen minutes of Oswald gazing lovingly at each and every picture, telling brief stories behind the context of a few of them, he removes yet another from the book. “Maybe this one will work?”, the Mayor says for the umpteenth time, showing the picture proudly to the artist.

The painter takes the photograph and nods, forcing a smile. They could have sworn he showed them this one already.

“It’s his eyes again, isn’t it? There’s something about the way the light is caught in them.” Oswald takes the photo back. “You can recreate that, can you?”

“Oh… Yes…. I will definitely try to stay true with the photo,” they answer honestly. _“I only wish we had one picked already,”_ they thought to themselves. It would be unprofessional to say such things aloud.

Oswald rests the picture on the table and pushes it to the side, thinking it could be a real candidate for the painting. He then continues his search through more of the pages in the thick photo album. “No, no, not this one,” he mutters to himself, slightly shaking his head in disapproval. “He’s squinting in that one.” But he still thinks Edward looks delightful.

The painter gathers all the picture cluttering the table, trying to keep some organization so they don’t go over the same photo again. Oswald has given up putting them back into the album and appears to just be enjoying the memories in the pictures, rather than looking for the best one for the painting. _“Oh, God. Hurry up!”_ , the artist dares not to say out loud.

When Oswald finally makes it to the end of the album, he suddenly pulls out more photos from a sleeve in the back of the book.

The painter’s eyes widen in absolute horror. They thought the sea of Edward photos had dried up, but the current just appears keeps coming in with vigor.

“We have to go through every single one and even the ones in the second book,” Oswald says, handing over half of the pictures from the back of the book.

 _“FUCK!”_ , the painter screamed internally, fighting off the urge to rip out their hair. They thought taking this job would be an easy self-portrait gig. They would never have imagined their death to be drowning in Edward Nygma photographs. Why does the Mayor have so many pictures of this man? Does he have some sort of infatuation? They grind their teeth, trying to think of some way to move their session along.

After a moment and several more Edward photographs, Oswald makes the decision to go with the picture he sat to the side. The majority of the rest of the photos are very casual, being that they were taken at Edward’s loft. He can’t imagine a better picture of Edward to be immortalized in paint with him at his side. The striking look in Edward’s eyes and the light reflecting in them were too alluring to not be painted in the portrait.

The artist is relieved that the Mayor had made up his mind on his own. They thought they would have to resort to desperate measures to get the paint brush back in hand.

The remainder of their session goes on without a hitch and the painter completes the original portion of the painting. They take the canvas and the photo of Edward home with them to add the Mayor’s beloved chief of staff to the portrait.

##  **~~~**

Almost a week has passed and Oswald received the painting back from the artist. He’s amazed at how Edward’s image conveyed onto the canvas. The artist made it appear as though he was always planned to be in the portrait.

Oswald now waits on pins and needles for Edward to return home. Not only will he reveal the painting, but also his feelings for him.

Butterflies cramp in the pit of Oswald’s stomach and he paces back and forth. With each passing moment, Edward isn’t home, the Mayor submerges deeper in worry. He isn’t sure how Edward would accept his portrait or the deep love he feels for him. It would be heartbreaking for Oswald to know that his feelings are only one sided, but he can no longer go on without Edward knowing. Though there’s a real chance their relationship may never be on the romantic side, Oswald is hoping they could still remain friends. Life would be unbearable without Edward in it.

The hollow hall fills with the echo of footsteps and Oswald rush as quickly as he can to the grand room’s entry, meeting Edward at the threshold.

“I’m so sorry, Oswald,” Edward says, stopping before the short dark haired man. “I know you were expecting me sooner. I didn’t mean to disappoint you.”

“It’s okay. You can never disappoint me, Ed,” he assures him.

“I just got caught up doing a few….”

“No need to explain, my dear friend.” He rests his left hand on his shoulder. “You’re here now and that’s all that matters.”

Both men stand across from each other, reluctant smiles on their faces, as they beam into the other’s eyes. Their gaze seems to last an eternity.

“So—” Edward breaks their connection by cutting his eyes away— “why did you ask me here? It seemed very important.”

“It - it -it is,” Oswald stutters and takes several breaths to gain more control of himself. Why does his tongue always tie when they are alone together? “But I want to show you something first,” he manages to say clearly and takes Edward by the hand. It’s a bold move to touch him in this way, but Edward doesn’t appear to be shying away. He leads them to the center of the grand room and stops before a navy-blue silk cloth covered easel.

Edward peers down at their hands laced together and Oswald immediately lets him go.

“I’m sorry,” he swiftly apologized.

Edward stares back with no reply.

Oswald takes in the empty expression on Edward’s face and it only makes him think that this is all a grave mistake. But he also feels as though he’s in far too deep to turn around now. “Ed….”, his small voice says, sweaty hand gripping anxiously into the smooth golden ball handle of his cane.

“Yes, Oswald.” He adjusts his glasses.

The Mayor takes a ruffled breath, heart hammering in his narrow chest. He envisioned how this moment would be, every detail to the last second, but he never imagined the way it would physically feel. He senses his entire body about to collapse. “Ummm—” clears his throat, aligning his poster— “you’ve done so much for me, Ed, and I wanted to do something to show you that you are appreciated.” He removes the silk cloth from the painting.

Edward holds his glasses onto his face and leans forward, taking a closer look at the canvas. “You put me in your painting?” He turns his head to Oswald.”

“Yes. The artist had to go off a picture, but I truly feel like they captured your likeness,” Oswald says. Though he’s having a bit of trouble reading Edward’s body language, he thinks the portrait has made a positive effect on him. “I appreciate you, Ed.” He takes pause, gaining the strength to say his next words. “And—” he steps closer— “I love you.”

Edward stands up straight and stares blankly at Oswald.

“I’ve had these feeling for you for a while and I finally have the courage to tell you.” He holds his cane firmly before him, wondering why Edward appears cold and emotionless. Hearing those words must have been a shock to him, maybe Oswald will get a reply if he said them again. “Did you hear me, Ed? …. I said that I‘m in love you.”

Both men eye each other in silence, unaware of the proper way to respond to their current predicament.

Oswald feels a hollowness rushing through his body. It’s obvious that Edward doesn’t feel the same. Now he can’t help but think that he’s ruined a perfect friendship. Oswald can no longer bear the agonizing torture of silent rejection, so he turns away to make his lonely exit from the room, heart sorely breaking.

But Edward benevolently grabs his hand before he gets too far away. “Let’s try something, Oswald.” He closes the gap between them.

“Try what?”

Edward leans into Oswald and kisses his lips.

The Mayor’s eyes broaden with utter surprise, as he drops his cane to the floor and hastily takes a step back, breaking their unexpected connection. “What was that?”, he breathes, body pulsing from the shock of the powerful current that shot down his spine when their lips touched.

“What was a kiss, Oswald.”

“Yes, yes—” he closes his eyes tightly, shaking the confusion out of his head— “I know that.”

“Have you never been kissed before?”

“No… Yes…. No, no, I haven’t,” he mangles his reply, but manages to reveal the truth. Oswald opens his ocean blues and gapes back at Edward, tilting his head to the right. “But why did you do that? I thought you didn’t feel the same way.”

“You startled me, Oswald,” he confesses. He was struck speechless when he heard what he said. “I had no idea that our feelings were mutual.”

“Mutual?” Oswald understands what he means, but it’s still a confusing concept. Edward had hidden his feeling well this entire time.

“I’m the source of all emotion, but I’m caged in a white prison.” He’s hoping that this riddle will assure Oswald of his true affections. “What am I?”

Oswald blinks, taking a moment to think of the answer. He usually acts as though he doesn’t like Edward’s riddles, but he’s always had a fondness for them. “The heart,” he finally answers, positive that he’s correct.

“Yes.” Edward flashes a coquettish grin. “I love you too, and I love the painting. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

Oswald’s suddenly filled with an intense urge to hug Edward and he doesn't have anything holding back his need. He wraps his arms around the taller copper haired man, endearing smile stretched on his face, blowing tiny sweet kisses upon Edward’s shoulder. “I can’t believe it,“ he sighs in relief. It’s been ages since he’s felt so loved in another’s arms.

“I know you can’t,” Edward mutters, sliding his hands down to the small of Oswald’s back. “I can feel your heart racing.” He slowly pulls out of his warm embrace. “Such an enchanting rhythm.”

Oswald cups Edward’s cheeks with both hands. “I—” he moistens his lips— “I don’t know what to do now.”

Edward smiles with a toothy grin never have he seen The Penguin struck so clueless. The innocents in his eyes in this moment nearly takes Edward’s breath away. “We can try for that second kiss,” he confidently suggests. He knows their first kiss caught him completely off guard, but that was exactly what he wanted.

Oswald’s face blooms a soft rosy tinge. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that, you wanting to kiss me.”

“You’ll get used to it, Oswald.” He leans into the shorter man, cupping the nape of his neck, nose delicately brushing the other, silky lips barely touching. “Because you deserve every kiss,” he murmurs thickly and presses their lips firmly together.

Oswald breathes in deeply and his body slightly quakes, as he melds into this new sensation. “Mmm….”, he blissfully hums and closes his eyes.

Edward gently scratches the back of Oswald’s neck and rests his other hand on his hip, pulling them together like opposite ends of magnets. He slowly breaks off their connection, nibbling tenderly on his pouty bottom lip. “How was that, Mr. Penguin?”, he whispers, stroking his fingers through the back of Oswald’s short raven hair.

Oswald pants as if he’s just emerged from deep waters, taking his first breath of fresh air. “Unbelievably pleasant," he exhales.

“Better than the first?”

“Yes.”

“I could tell. I felt your body trembling,“ Edward says huskily, holding Oswald by the hips with both hands. “You know there are other ways to make the body vibrate.”

Oswald finds himself unable to reply, lost in the gaze of his gorgeous brown eyes.

“Would you like to explore them with me, Oswald?”

“But – but, what about the painting?“ He timidly diverts the conversation to an insignificant matter, knowing all too well where their events may be heading. "We should hang it somewhere.”

"You mean like over a fireplace mantel?”

“Yes—” he nods— “I think that would be nice.”

“My bedroom has a fireplace.” Edward arches a brow.

“I know, but I was thinking somewhere a little more public.”

“If you don’t it like there—" he rubs his thumb across Oswald’s lush bottom lip— “we could always move it.”

The Mayor dissolves into faint giggles, lowering his head, such vivid flirting is alien to him. Though it would be the first time he’s engaged in sexual acts with another, he’s quite open to what Edward is suggesting.

“Don’t you worry, Oswald.” He delicately rests his right hand under his chin, lifting the Mayor’s head up to face him. “I know how to be slow and gentle.”

Oswald leers at Edward with an inflamed passion in his eyes never has he had a deeper desire to be with another. He takes Edward’s hands from his face and laces their fingers together, then leads the way out of the grand room.

“Wait,” Edward says and stops them in their tracks. “We forgot the painting.” He let’s go of the Mayor’s hand and paces back to collect the portrait. “And we also forgot this.” He picks up the cane from the floor.

“I don’t think I’m going to need that, Ed.”

“We’ll have it just in case—” he tucks the cane under his right arm and retakes ahold of Oswald with his free hand— “you want to explore another avenue.” Kisses his flushed cheek.

Oswald gulps and his eyes grow wider, as Edward takes the lead in making their way up to his bedroom.


End file.
